


Dream A Little Dream Of Me

by handahbear



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Brief mentions of child abuse, Charms, Contortionism, Fortune Telling, Illusions, Knives, Magical Realism, Multi, The Night Circus AU, tarot reading
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:09:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handahbear/pseuds/handahbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things cannot be taught. On the subject of magic, opinions differ. A dangerous game is being played to find where the true answer lies. Two men will be pitted against each other in a challenge that seems to have no end. Though this game seems harmless, an undercurrent of urgency runs through the proceedings, inviting one to think that perhaps, just perhaps, there is more at stake than mere pride.</p><p>((An E/R Night Circus AU. No knowledge of The Night Circus is truly necessary.))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No knowledge of The Night Circus is necessary to read this story. The setting is Victorian Era Europe. This story contains magical realism, though not all of the characters in the story are aware that magic is truly real.
> 
> This was also posted without a beta, so any errors are my own and I do apologize for them. Many liberties will be taken with both the plot and locations, though I will try to stay as true to geography as possible.

Some things cannot be taught.

From the time Grantaire was born, he had been a natural. His mother had cursed and wailed and damned the man who had left her behind to raise him on her own. All things considered, she did the best she could, but there is only so much that one human being can withstand. On his sixth birthday, she packed a small suitcase and pinned a note to the front of his coat. She deposited him on a train car and waved goodbye. He never saw her again.

His destination was his father. Through the kindness of strangers, he managed to find his way to the theatre where his father was presently engaged. His father, of course, was a magician.

Grantaire’s father was none too happy to see him, and Grantaire had never been particularly good at controlling his emotions. He set the curtains on fire and as his father set them to rights with a snap of his fingers, Grantaire thought he saw a spark of interest in his father’s eyes.

The lessons began the next day. Grantaire could set things aflame, fling objects against the walls, cause watches and clocks to combust. What he could not do was put them back together again. His father watched him and tried to correct, working with him to reassemble the objects he shattered and putting out the small fires he set.

After two weeks, the gentleman came. Grantaire was called backstage after his father’s show, and his father introduced him to a gentleman whose name slipped in one ear and out the other. His father put Grantaire through the paces, having him set and extinguish a handkerchief, launch a vase against a wall and repair it, make the gentleman’s pocket watch explode and then come together again. The gentleman nodded and beckoned Grantaire forward.

Grantaire stepped forward hesitantly, and presented his hand when asked. The gentleman fit a silver ring on the third finger of his right hand, and just as Grantaire was about to protest that it wouldn’t fit, it began to shrink. At first, he was delighted at this display, but his delight soon turned to fear and then to pain as the ring slowly sank into his skin, leaving behind a mark that would last a lifetime.

After Grantaire left, his father and the gentleman remained.

“Your own son?” the gentleman asked, idly pulling his gloves back on. “Are you really willing to risk so much?”

“I do not risk. I know that I will win,” his father boasted. “We have a deal, oui?”

“Oui,” his companion agreed. “I will, of course, let you know when I have found my champion. As you had first move last time, I believe that it is mine by rights.”

“Of course. And the venue?”

“Will be determined once I have assessed the skills of my player.”

“Surely you don’t mean to pick an urchin up off of the streets.”

“Nothing quite so crass, my dear man. I have far bigger plans in mind.”

These plans included a young boy named Enjolras. Five years old, the son of an aristocrat, wanting for nothing. He was walking in the yard, observing the flora and fauna of the garden when the gentleman approached. Enjolras had never been a shy child, even around adult strangers. When the gentleman had promised him the chance to change the world, he leapt at it, as any young boy would. It sounded like an adventure, did it not? And a brighter young boy could not have been found in that particular area of Paris (for Grantaire was currently en route to London with his father for the next tour of his father’s shows). 

Enjolras never saw his parents again, but as he grew older, his memories faded, and all that remained were recollections of a gentleman whose name who could never recall, who visited him periodically in his youth and provided him with everything he could need and the best instruction available (though had he known how much his instruction differed from that of his fellow young men, he may have reconsidered his opinion of the gentleman.) 

On his eighth birthday, the gentleman gave him a gold ring, far too large for his slender fingers, but once placed on the third finger of his right hand, it began to shrink. It sunk into his skin, leaving an imprint, and he could feel that something had changed. The next day, his instructors were dismissed and he began to study exclusively with the gentleman. 

Enjolras had not been born with anything other than his personality to differentiate himself from the world at large. The gentleman, however, believed that all things could be taught, if given enough time and discipline. Enjolras was taught how to mix concoctions that could do wondrous things, taught symbols that if written in a certain way and in a certain place could bring down an empire, taught how to be charming.

Grantaire’s lessons were very different. He knew he was being trained, but for what, he was uncertain. His father would speak sometimes of besting his opponent, though he had no idea what kind of challenge this was. Much of his training centered on learning to control his power, learning how to channel it into a productive force rather than a destructive one. He learned to create, though he learned there was no way to create something from nothing; for everything, there must be a beginning and an end. 

He learned the tricks that his father employed during his show. He learned how to dress himself without using his hands. He learned how to manipulate fabric to appear far richer than it was. And he learned how to heal.

The one lesson he hated most was the one that would be most useful to him. His father taught him how to heal himself, but this was not without a price. They started small. His father would slice open the tips of his fingers with his pocketknife, and make Grantaire heal them, one by one and then all ten at once. As soon as he mastered this and could do it without so much as blinking, his father shattered his wrist, and told him to heal it. It took much longer for Grantaire to perfect bone setting, but came to excel at it.

Grantaire grew up hating his father. Enjolras grew up ambivalent towards his gentleman.

On Grantaire’s eighteenth birthday, his father died. He received letters of condolences from his father’s friends and colleagues, but could not bring himself to begin to answer them. The entire flat that they had rented smelled of rotting flowers. Grantaire could not bring himself to throw them away. 

This was not out of grief for his father’s death. Rather, he was grieving for the fact that his father was not truly dead.

His father’s last trick had not worked the way he’d planned. He had meant to disappear, to become invisible, to turn almost into a pane of glass. He had only half succeeded, and was more ethereal being than man. Grantaire felt no pity for the man who had made his life hell.

Two years passed. Grantaire held séances to make his money, falsifying communication with the dead through small, though clever, tricks. He could never stand the way the families cried afterwards. Part of him wanted to tell them it was a scam, but he had to keep himself alive somehow. He dove into the bottoms of as many bottles as he could find, ignoring his father as much as he could when the man would appear behind him at the most inopportune times. 

As if the constant berating about his drinking was not enough, Grantaire’s father would not sway from his position that Grantaire try to improve his skills. Grantaire was having none of it, and snapped that he was as good as he was possibly going to get. His father stalked off, muttering about wasted potential, and Grantaire ignored him, having no use for a man who had never truly helped him.

On Enjolras’s eighteenth birthday, the gentleman set him up with a flat of his own, furnished with the books he was to study in his free time. His free time would come after the job that had been arranged for him. He was to work in tandem with the renowned Jean Prouvaire on his latest project, whatever it may be.

Prouvaire had had a number of successful projects in recent years, and all by the age of twenty one. There were the multiple plays, the ballet troupe, the acting company, the list went on. He seemed to live a charmed life; everything he touched blossomed. 

His newest project, Enjolras was assured by Jean Prouvaire, was going to be the biggest and brightest star in the constellation of Prouvaire’s career. Jehan, as Enjolras was to call him, had taken an immediate liking to Enjolras, and told him that he would be a godsend on the newest project.

“Someone to ground me,” Prouvaire explained. “To keep me from flying too close to the sun, as it were. To keep my ambitions in check.”

Enjolras had replied that he would do the best he could, if only he knew what the project was.

Jehan took him aside and beckoned him close, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “A circus,” he murmured. “The likes of which have never been seen by god or man.”

Enjolras had merely nodded, as yet unknowing how much this circus would cost him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mistakes, grammatical or otherwise, are my own.

The letter came in a plain envelope. At first, Grantaire thought it may have been delivered by mistake, but it was his name on the front, and so he opened it. A small card had been placed within, containing only two words: _Your Move._

“What the hell is this supposed to mean?” Grantaire demanded, brandishing the slip of paper in front of his father. He had burst into his father’s room without knocking, in time to see his father examining his transparent arm in the light of the window. Grantaire frowned, but did not comment on this. Instead, he focused on the matter at hand. “What am I supposed to do now?”

His father raised an eyebrow. “Now we wait, until a move becomes apparent.”

“And how long will that take, exactly?”

“The right moment could come tomorrow, or a week from now, or a month from now, or a year. And so we wait.”

Grantaire stormed out of his father’s room and contemplated burning the piece of paper. He had dared to hope that maybe something would be revealed to him, but at twenty, he was still as much in the dark as he was at the age of six.

The right moment presented itself exactly six months later.

The plans for Jehan’s circus began to solidify. As famous for his endeavors as he was for his dinner parties, he threw a very elaborate party for a very small number of guests. Enjolras was, of course, in attendance. Among these guests were Marius, a young translator who dabbled in design; Eponine and Cosette, a beautiful pair of young women who were nearly inseparable, though in looks they were as different as night and day; Joly, a young doctor who had an eye for detail that extended beyond the operating table; and a rather unexpected guest.

This guest arrived halfway through the dinner party. All of the guests knew Jehan, though none knew each other, and to see them interact for the first time was an interesting experience for any observer. Marius was the most reserved, a shy young man who had grown up with his grandfather but as they had not seen eye to eye, had been thrown out of the house at a young age. Realizing his aptitude for language, he began to learn the finer points of languages and found work as a translator, able to work in English, French, Spanish, and German. Design had never been more than a hobby for him, though he had sketched out many plans for rooms and eventually entire buildings. 

Marius was drawn into conversation with Eponine and Cosette, two inseparable friends, so close they might have been sisters. As young girls, they had been raised together by Cosette’s father, a kind gentleman who had taken them in when her mother had died. Though close, they were near perfect opposites. Where Cosette was blonde, and soft, Eponine was dark haired and all angles, though they both had their own particular kind of beauty. It was clear to nearly everyone, save for the three of them, that Marius was absolutely smitten with the both of them, and could not seem to decide which one he preferred.

Joly had engaged Enjolras in conversation early in the evening, trying to gain some information about the true purpose of this dinner. Enjolras’s lips were sealed, but he assured Joly that the idea was a brilliant one and something that he would be most interested in seeing through to the end. Joly nodded politely and changed the topic to some more recent medical breakthroughs, a topic that Enjolras was happy to learn more about. Jehan occasionally interjected into each of the conversations, but was mainly content to sit and observe the way his guests interacted with each other.

A loud knock cut through the atmosphere of quiet conversation. Enjolras stood first, excusing himself to answer the door. No one else was expected, and Enjolras had no idea who would be calling at this hour of the evening. He was surprised to find a dark haired young man on the doorstep, wrapped in a long coat and carrying a small glass box.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Enjolras asked politely, carefully observing the other man.

He grinned, the expression changing his entire face into a countenance of laughter and mirth. “I’m looking for Jean Prouvaire. I’ve got something I’d like to show him, if he’s interested.”

Slightly bemused, Enjolras stepped aside to let him enter. “If you would care to wait here, I will return in just a moment after speaking to Jehan.”

The stranger nodded and stepped into the foyer, looking around curiously. Enjolras left him and returned to the dining room, informing Jehan that there was a man there to see him.

“He said he had something to show you, though I’ve no idea what it is. All he has with him is a glass box.”

Jehan raised an eyebrow. “By all means, bring him in. This could prove to be very interesting.”

Enjolras went to retrieve the man and present him to the dinner guests. The man smiled and introduced himself as Courfeyrac, setting the box down on the floor. 

“I have a very particular set of skills,” he began, still smiling. “Word has been going around that perhaps you would be able to utilize them. If I may, I would like to demonstrate for you just what it is that I do.”

“Of course,” Jehan replied, smiling back. It seemed as if Courfeyrac’s good humor was infectious.

Courfeyrac nodded, evidently pleased, and removed his coat, revealing a form-fitting shirt and pants. He removed his shoes and placed them neatly with his coat. Stepping into the box, he began to fold himself into it, pouring himself into it with a liquid grace, until only his left hand remained outside of the box. With his left hand he pulled the lid shut. As soon as the lid came down, the entire box began to fill with white smoke.

When the smoke cleared, the box was empty. Marius was openly gaping at the box, Cosette and Eponine were sharing a glance, Joly was halfway out of his chair, and Jehan’s smile threatened to split him from ear to ear. Only Enjolras was trying to discern just exactly how he had done it.

From behind all of them, Courfeyrac cleared his throat. He stood behind them, completely whole and appearing exactly as he had before. They turned to him, and Marius began to clap, an example which was quickly followed by everyone else. Courfeyrac bowed slightly at the waist and moved to put his shoes back on.

Jehan immediately stuck up a conversation with him and had another place laid at the table, so that Courfeyrac could enjoy the food with them. Enjolras hung back slightly, much as he wanted to like the man. Was this him? Was this the opponent he’d been training for? Over the course of the dinner, he came to the conclusion that no, Courfeyrac was not his opponent. He could not have explained to the gentleman how he knew this, but instinctively, he did. Enjolras let himself relax and conversed with Courfeyrac, finding him to be a pleasant conversationalist and a passionate man as a whole.

After dinner, Jehan led them all into the dining room. Once there, he revealed the beginnings of his plans.

“A circus,” he said triumphantly, waving a hand over the large piece of paper outlining what he thought he wanted. “A circus the likes of which no one has ever seen before. One that will actually be magic, one with no strings, no seams, no gaps between illusion and reality. Flawless.”

Marius stepped up first, eager to see the blueprints. He frowned slightly, almost unconsciously, and when Jehan asked him what the matter was, he made a small comment about tent placement and walkways. Jehan immediately handed him a pencil, and Marius fell upon the plans with enthusiasm, making corrections. Leaving Marius with his plans, Jehan turned to Cosette and Eponine next.

If a circus were truly magic, Jehan asked them, what would the acts consist of? What would the performers look like? Eponine and Cosette launched into a dialog of ideas, grabbing spare scraps of paper and a pen to jot them down so they wouldn’t forget. Jehan asked Courfeyrac to join their conversation, and Courfeyrac provided them with ideas for the sort of performers they would want.

Third came Joly, who was brought into the more practical side of fine details. How would the circus travel, how many people is too many to employ, how should the tents be stored, could any act be considered too dangerous, how many people could safely fit in the circus at a time, etc.? Joly was more than happy to begin to hammer out the details and Jehan left them to their tasks, relocating himself near Enjolras.

At first, Enjolras had been confused as to what he could provide. He had no special talents that he could think of (other than the magic, but he never saw it as magic, more as a manipulation of the world around him). 

“You, my friend,” Jehan began, “Will play the most important part of all. You’re here to reason with us. To ground us. To work on the practical side of things, along with Joly. You’re the one who’s going to keep us going. You’re the one who’s going to breathe life into this circus.”

Enjolras smiled and thanked him. Jehan wandered about between his guests, checking in on their progress and smiling at their work. Enjolras hung back, watching everyone, and waited, as he had been for weeks, for his opponent to make their move.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been decided by consensus that it would be best to hold auditions for a magician. Other acts could easily be found, but to find a truly gifted magician would be a harder task than the others. Courfeyrac knew quite a few people who would be interested in being a part of the circus, including a pair of lion and tiger tamers, a few trapeze artists, and a number of clowns. The other acts, Jehan was certain, would fall in to place, but at the moment, they simply must have a magician.

Open auditions would be held in their current city of Paris. Jehan insisted that Enjolras attend, if for no other reason than that people would listen to him and do what he said. Enjolras felt obliged to comply, and so he and Jehan determined a set of dates for the open auditions. Letters were sent to the papers, and advertisements were published. They had only to wait for the first candidates to show up.

Grantaire was tired of waiting. In his opinion, he had done all that he could possibly do, and now was no longer the time for sitting idly by. Now was the time for action, though he was unsure what that action may be.

He saw the advertisement in the evening paper, and immediately decided to go. Out of courtesy, he told his father where he was going. His father nodded grimly and informed him that he would dispatch a letter stating that Grantaire had made his move. The next move would be his opponent’s.

The knowledge that this was his move made Grantaire slightly nervous, but he was determined that he would not be deterred from this task. He arrived at the appointed location for auditions and took a number, finding a seat in the corner that was well away from the other so-called magicians. He was unaware that each and every one had begun speculating about him from the moment he walked in the room. All of the magicians at the very least knew of each other. It was not often that an entirely new magician appeared. They wrote him off as being no competition, and returned to their conversations amongst themselves.

Jehan and Enjolras had seen enough mediocre magicians to last a lifetime. This one fumbled his cards, this one obviously had something up his sleeve, this one nearly fell off of the front of the stage. Jehan dismissed them all and asked Enjolras to call in the next, sighing. He had yet to be impressed.

Grantaire’s number was called, and he stood up, draping his coat over one arm and entering the room. As he entered, he passed Enjolras, brushing his sleeve against Enjolras’s arm. Grantaire jerked his arm closer to his side. Just a small shock, and nothing more, Grantaire reasoned. Nothing to be concerned about.

As he took the stage, Jehan observed him. His shirt, clean, but old. His vest, new, but cheap. His pants, a bit mud-splattered from his walk here. Jehan waved a hand, indicating that he should begin, and settled back, hoping that this one at least would not nearly choke to death on a coin.

Grantaire cleared his throat nervously and cracked his knuckles. The man who had called him into the room was the most breathtaking human being he had ever seen in his entire life, and the man sitting next to him was slender but imposing. His thoughts raced, trying to come up with a trick to do first. His eyes lit upon the notebook in front of Enjolras. Rolling up his shirt sleeves, he crossed to the front of the stage and knelt down.

“May I borrow your book, monsieur?” he asked, smiling gently and reaching out a hand.

Enjolras complied, nearly dropping the notebook when their fingertips grazed each other and a spark seemed to travel up the length of his arm.

“Thank you.” Grantaire shifted the book from hand to hand, waiting for Enjolras to sit back down. Once he was seated, he threw the book in the arm. As Enjolras was about to bemoan the certainty of ruined work, the notebook became something else entirely.

A raven flitted down from the air to land on Grantaire outstretched arm. Clad in his shirtsleeves, there could be no doubt that the bird had not been up his sleeve. Lifting his arm, the bird flew into the air once more, and landed on the table, no longer a raven, but a notebook. Jehan sat up a little straighter in his chair. There had been no flaws that he could see, which was a promising change from what he had been exposed to that day.

Grantaire held up his coat and withdrew a knife, almost more of a dagger, from its folds, though neither Jehan nor Enjolras could see where it had been concealed. He threw the dagger in the air twice, catching it expertly, but on the third toss, he did not catch it. Instead, the blade pierced the palm of his hand, and a single drop of blood fell to the floor of the stage. Jehan was nearly out of his chair when Grantaire pulled the dagger out and showed them his palm, whole and unblemished. 

“Perfect,” Jehan proclaimed, after he had gone through a number of other illusions. “Yes. You’re the one that we want. Your act is brilliant, though perhaps we’ll have to warn audiences about the…stabbing…but other than that, flawless. Physically…your hair is perfect, keep it exactly as it is, but I’m afraid we have a bit of a theme going, with shades of black, white, and gray. I don’t suppose you have any…other…clothes?”

In response, Grantaire smiled, and set himself aflame. 

Once the flames had died down, he stood before them in a perfect black suit, gray vest, and immaculate white shirt. In one hand, he held a top hat. 

“Is the hat too much?” he grinned.

Jehan laughed as Enjolras opened his mouth to say something, but for once, was utterly speechless.

“You’re hired,” Jehan continued. “You are, I take it, able to travel?”

“Wherever you want me to,” Grantaire replied. “I only ask a few hours’ notice to be given in order to pack a few of my things.”

“Of course, of course,” Jehan replied, waving a hand. “Naturally. We’re not quite ready to set anything up at the moment, there are just so many plans, but you’re hired. I hope you’ll be able to join our little troupe for dinner tonight. It will be a wonderful opportunity to meet your fellow performers, or, rather, the performers we currently have. We’re still looking for just a few more, but now that we have a magician…it shouldn’t be too terribly difficult to lock some other details into place.”

“I would love to meet the other performers,” Grantaire smiled. “If you have a card you could give me with your address, and possibly the time?”

Jehan fished a card out of the pocket of his coat and held it out to Grantaire. “I look forward to seeing you tonight. Eleven o’clock, on the dot.”

“Until eleven, then,” Grantaire smiled, nodding at the two of them and taking his leave.

“He was perfect, wasn’t he?” Jehan asked Enjolras. Enjolras could only nod, unable to speak. 

This was him. This was his opponent. A man who could stab himself and not even flinch, a man who could set himself aflame without blinking. Grantaire performed magic as easily as he breathed. Enjolras expended effort with every minor charm. How could he possibly hope to beat this man?

Grantaire smiled to himself as he walked home, holding Jehan’s card in his hand. There was something about the other man that drew Grantaire in. Of course, it helped that Enjolras had the face of an angel, he thought. Perhaps he would be at the dinner tonight. Grantaire certainly hoped so. He wanted to talk to him, if only to hear his voice again, for he had only heard it when Enjolras had called Grantaire in for his audition.

The fact that Enjolras’s skin against his caused sparks to fly over his skin was promptly shoved to the back of his mind and forgotten by the time he arrived home. It had only been a flight of fancy, nothing more, Grantaire assured himself. Only his imagination, and nothing more.


	4. Chapter 4

Jehan closed auditions entirely after Grantaire left. He had Enjolras tell the remaining magicians that they were no longer needed, and while many went away grumbling, they did go away, leaving Enjolras and Jehan alone. Noting Enjolras’s obvious distraction, Jehan told him to meet him back at his house in time for dinner, if he would. Enjolras nodded and left, ducking into the nearest café to have a cup of tea and clear his head. 

The café was crowded, and only one chair remained at a table occupied be another young man. Enjolras started to leave, hoping to find another, less crowded place to sit and organize his thoughts, but before he could, the other young man waved him over.

It would be rude to leave without at least acknowledging the other man, though Enjolras was certain he had never seen him before. The man sported a shock of bright red hair that would not be easily forgotten.

“Will you sit with me?” he asked, gesturing at the empty chair opposite him as Enjolras came closer. “Forgive me, but you seem as if you could use a moment to think.”

Enjolras nodded, sitting down as Feuilly gestured for the waitress to bring another cup for Enjolras.

“Feuilly,” he smiled, extending his hand across the table.

“Enjolras.” He shook Feuilly’s hand and smiled politely. Feuilly started slightly at the touch of his hand and blinked rapidly a few times before letting go of his hand. Enjolras frowned slightly, tilting his head in a silent question.

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” Feuilly smiled, taking a sip from his cup.

“It was something.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“I might believe more than you think.”

Feuilly glanced around them, making sure no one was paying attention to them. “I read palms, occasionally. More often, it’s tarot cards. I don’t usually work off of touch, but you…” he trailed off. “I’m sorry, you probably think I’m entirely insane.”

Enjolras smiled. “I don’t, actually. Go on.”

He thought for a moment, studying Enjolras. “You’re different.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Do you ever give a straight answer to anyone, or am I just a special case?”

He laughed. “I don’t think I can answer that with a straight answer. Do you have your cards with you?”

Feuilly frowned, glancing around them once more.

“Don’t worry; they won’t hear you,” Enjolras replied, waving a hand. “I assure you that none of them are paying the least bit of attention to us.” 

Feuilly nodded, reaching into an inner pocket of his coat and drawing out a pack of cards, slightly larger than the average playing deck. He placed them on the table, face down, glancing over at Enjolras.

“May I?” he asked, reaching out a hand. “I will completely understand if you say no. Some would rather not have others touch their cards.”

“By all means,” Feuilly replied, urging him to pick them up. “It doesn’t bother me in the slightest.”

Enjolras lifted the pack, shuffling through the cards. “Iluzjonista,” he said softly. “Your cards are in Polish, my friend.”

“I am Polish, so it only makes sense, does it not?” he asked, amused.

“What brings you here?”

“The winds,” he smiled.

“I won’t get a straight answer out of you either, now, will I?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Let me buy your tea.”

“Let me read your cards.”

“An exchange, then? Fair enough.”

Feuilly separated the deck into three stacks. “Choose the one that speaks to you.”

Enjolras considered them for a moment, finally deciding on the pile to the left and pushing it towards Feuilly. Feuilly cleared away the other cards and laid out the pile that Enjolras had chosen, studying them carefully.

“What do you do, Enjolras?” he asked after a moment.

“That’s complicated. I manage things. I plan. I…take care of matters that need taking care of.”

“And why should that be so dangerous, I wonder?” Feuilly frowned. “You should take care of yourself, Enjolras.”

Enjolras frowned. “In danger now? Or in the future?”

“I can’t tell. Time isn’t working as it’s supposed to. Or, rather, time will not be working as it is supposed to in the near future. I’m afraid it’s unclear. It appears to be a balancing act. If you push too far, if you strain too much…there will be consequences. Balance is the key.”

Enjolras nodded. “Thank you, Feuilly.”

“Don’t thank me. Please.”

“I’m paying for your tea, in any case.”

“A deal is a deal, I suppose.”

“Will you allow me to walk you out as well?”

“If you insist, it is no hardship to me.”

Enjolras nodded, paying for both of their drinks and walking Feuilly out to the street. “Have you always been able to read the cards?” he asked after a moment.

“My mother gave them to me before I went away. She used to read, and she taught me. I was better at it than my sisters, so I was the one she taught.”

“What about charms?”

Feuilly shook his head. “She never knew them, so neither did I.”

“Would you like to learn?”

Feuilly tilted his head, regarding Enjolras. “Are you saying you know charms?”

“Among other things.”

“Are you offering to teach me?”

“I’m offering to teach you charms, among other things.”

Feuilly nodded. “Shall we begin today, then? No time like the present.”

Enjolras smiled, offered him his arm, and led him back to his apartment. Together, the spent the afternoon working on simple charms, and the beginning of the evening was spent in other ways. When the time came for Feuilly to leave and for Enjolras to begin to prepare for the dinner that night, Enjolras gave Feuilly a card with his address printed on it. He was to come the next day for another lesson, at the same time as he had today.

Feuilly smiled, assuring him that he would come tomorrow.

Enjolras had only just shut the door and gone back to his desk when the letter appeared. It was from the gentleman, he saw immediately, and he opened it, curious as to what he needed to tell him.

_Don’t get involved with someone extraneous. You don’t have time to become unfocused. This is too important for distractions. Do not see him again._

As per usual, Enjolras burned the letter after he read it. 

It was the first of the instructions from the gentleman that he would blatantly disobey.


End file.
